The 'Bag Within
I see this pic not literally but as a visual metaphor. As figurative representation. This isn’t just a happy couple and a skeezy scrote, but a signifier for what I like to call “The ‘Bag Within.” The Primal Douche that lurks in the deep, dark subconscious of the American Dream.
On the left we have a happy go lucky all American Aryan couple, looking forward to future years of healthy blond children, SUVs and a dysfunctional sex life.
But on the inside of this square chinned corn-fed American boy lies something sinister. A deep, primal source-douche lurking among his tighty whiteys and subscription to Vanity Fair.
The Primal Douche. The ‘Bag Within.
It rages. It struggles to free itself. Among Strapping Lad and his perky young co-ed girlfriend, there lies the urge to morph into a skeezy tongue-bag. To wear bizarre wool coats and leer obnoxiously at a camera, his tongue stained with a thousand cheap wines. His breath stinking of the salmon he had for lunch.
It is The Freudian Primal Trauma Douche that lurks beneath the surface polish of All-American veneer. The rotting scrote that underlies even those happy couples who make your fiancee feel like crap because the diamond wasn’t big enough.
Do not be fooled by surface polish or cavity free teeth. Within even Ivory Snow lies a lurking source douche waiting to reveal itself for all to see in its skeezy, creepy-ass glory.
Or am I reading too much into a nasty old dude crowding into a pic?
